Dirty Shirley
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: They're kinda fighting, Gillian kinda drinks.  Drunk!Gillian abounds. They play a drinking game that rapidly gets rather raunchy. NOW WITH OPTIONAL M CHAPTER.
1. Dirty Shirley

_A/N: Hello! Welcome to this fic. I decided that I needed to write a drunk!gillian fic. before there's actually some canon on it. So, here's this:_

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**Dirty Shirley**

Gillian Foster sat on her couch drinking a glass of red wine—She raised the glass to her lips and felt the liquid slide onto her tongue. With a vague sucking motion, she swallowed and felt the warmth spread throughout her body. Numbly, she thought that she should be immune to the warmth by now, given the fact that she'd drank so much already.

Gillian didn't usually drink—as much as she wished it had little to do with her childhood, she knew the opposite was true. Her father had been an alcoholic throughout the entirety of her childhood, right up until her high school years and by then it was too late—her opinions were already formed.

Back then, she'd sworn she'd never drink. She chuckled to herself as she swirled the wine around in the glass—"so much for that." She said to the empty room as she took another swallow. Gillian had, however, managed to wait until her 21st birthday before succumbing to the temptation—

Even as she took her first shot of some sort of sweet alcohol, she swore to herself she'd never live her life in a stupor—and that was a promise she'd kept. In fact, she could count the number of hangovers she'd had on one hand.

And Gillian never, ever drank beer. The smell reminded her of her father—and as scent was so inherently tied to memory, any time she smelled it she'd be thrown back into the world of late night scream-fests, so she steered clear and did her best to close her eyes and keep the memories at bay whenever she smelled it on someone else's breath.

Gillian had had fun in college—she didn't get too crazy, but she'd had her moments. Vodka was her alcohol of choice back in that distant memory—

Before this evening, it had been a good five years since she'd even had a swallow of vodka. Usually, when she felt the need to numb whatever sort of pain she was feeling, she reached for wine—

But it had been one hell of a week, and as she drove home from the office, she simply knew that wine wasn't going to cut it. So, she stopped at the liquor store and picked up a bottle of Smirnoff and grenadine and made herself two of the strongest dirty shirleys she'd ever had with the 7-Up she had in her refrigerator.

And then Cal had called. She'd ignored it. So, he'd called again. She ignored it. But the stubborn man wouldn't give up—so, she picked up the phone and hung it right back up. They continued on this way for a good ten minutes before she finally decided that the man wasn't going to give up and she breathed a heavy and annoyed, "What?" into the phone.

For a man so determined to speak to her, it took him long enough to respond—his voice sounded distant to her, "We need to talk." He'd said.

Gillian had laughed bitterly before she answered, "No." She did her best to sound sober, to keep her voice steady.

Silence reigned on the phone before Cal spoke again, "Have you been drinking?" He asked, irritation making its way into his voice.

"None of your goddamn business." Gillian replied, which was an answer in and of itself.

"So you've been drinking," Cal sad and Gillian could hear his disapproval—without the vodka and with simply the wine, she might have cared, "So," he continued, "Let me get this straight: You're at home by yourself drinking on a Thursday night?"

Gillian remained silent.

Cal sighed heavily into the phone, "I'm coming over."

Gillian felt panic and anger rush through her body all at once, "No!" She shouted into the phone, "No, you're not, Cal Lightman. I do not want you in my house, I do not want you over here—you are the last person I want to see." The words rushed out of her, some of them slurring together and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

"Tough shit, Foster." Cal said as he hung up the phone.

Gillian had put her head down on the cool surface of her dining room table for a good five minutes as dread filled her entire body.

That was ten minutes ago and she expected Cal within the next seven to eight minutes.

What she'd said to him had been the truth—he really _was_ the last person she wanted to see. She was drinking because of the tough week—but it was Cal who had created the tough week.

He'd been acting so strangely toward her the last month or so and it was driving her crazy, making her angry and breaking her heart all at the same time. This week he'd simply ignored her—there was a new client, some leggy brunette—and he treated Gillian like she were his assistant. Any time she would try to offer up theories or opinions or evidence he would shoot her down, and he spoke to her as though she were a petulant child.

And the truth of the matter was that Gillian Foster was ridiculously sensitive. Cal knew that and he chose to ignore it.

So, Cal was the last person on earth she wanted to see.

As if bidden by her thoughts, a singular, loud knock came on the door.

Gillian eyed the door suspiciously with a little pout. She set her glass of wine down and padded to the door, her feet heavy beneath her. She leaned unnecessarily close to the door before she yelled, "Go away, Cal."

Cal could practically hear the pout in her voice, "Not gonna happen, love." He responded, "You and I both know I'm not going away, so you might as well let me in."

With a dramatic sigh, Gillian unlatched the lock and went back and plopped on the couch.

When Cal heard the lock unclick, he opened the door, entered her apartment, and shut the door softly behind him.

Cal looked at Gillian—she had her arm stretched out on the arm of the couch and her head was laying on her bicep as her feet were curled up next to her.

"What?" She said, wide-eyed and yet still very annoyed.

Cal smiled, "What's your poison?" He noticed the wine glass behind her, "Ah, wine." He said, and then saw the look that passed over her face.

"And tequila?" He read her again, "Vodka?" He laughed, "Ah, vodka." A pensive look came across his face, "I didn't picture you as a vodka kind of girl."

Gillian lifted her head up to look at him, "You don't know me as well as you think you do, Cal."

"Don't I?" He asked, and she flashed him a look of contempt, "No," He said, "I guess I don't."

She reveled in a brief moment of triumph before she looked at him—he looked rather disheveled, as though he'd been upset. She imagined him wringing his hands together, slamming his hand on his desk when she didn't pick up her phone. The thought seemed funny to her and she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Cal was taken aback by the sound and he smiled at her—she was drunk. He'd seen her drunk a few times and she was hot and cold when she'd been drinking—nice one minute, vicious the next.

"So, what do you wanna talk about, Cal?" She asked, the happiness from the giggling still in her eyes.

Cal opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come out.

"Oh, no, don't tell me I have to guess," Gillian groaned, but didn't give him a chance to answer before continuing, "If you're here to talk to me about Slutty McSlutterson, don't even _bother_." Her face scrunched up in disgust.

Cal couldn't help but laugh, "I'm sorry, _what_?"

Gillian looked at him exasperatedly, then she waved her hand around—"You know, your slut of the week—what's her name—oh, T—Tiddy—Tea…Slutty McSlutterson!" Gillian finished, and she looked quite pleased with herself.

Cal hid his smile, "Oh, you mean _Tabitha_."

Gillian stuck her tongue out, "Yeah, Tab—" She started to say the name, but stopped when she realized it was gone again, "Oh, _whatever_."

Cal still looked amused, "No, I didn't come here to talk about Tabitha." He said as he crossed and sat in the chair next to the couch.

"Oh please," Gillian said, "make yourself right at home."

Cal smiled at her and then leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees and rested his head on his hands as he looked at her.

"What's up, Gill?" He asked.

She eyed him, "_Not_ my tolerance…or patience level."

"I came to apologize." He said, matter-of-factly.

"Course you did." She said as she picked up her glass of wine and finished it.

"You shouldn't mix alcohol."

She set her glass back on the table and stared at him, "Shut up, Cal."

Cal put his hands out in front of him in a mock-defensive gesture, "Hey, I'm just saying…"

"Yeah, well, _don't_ just say." She said, leaning her head back on the couch, "Anyway. You were saying."

"I'm sorry."

"Right!" She said, her mind coming back to the topic at hand. "You're _sorry_." She spat the word out and found that it tasted rather funny on her tongue, "And what, pre tell, are you sorry for?"

Call shifted uncomfortably as he searched for the right words. "For…" He stumbled over them, "this week."

Gillian looked at him, "Uh-huh." Her disbelief was evident in her words and in her face.

"No, I mean it." He assured.

Gillian let out a sigh, "I'm sure you do, Cal. I'm _so_ sure you do. But, you know, enough is enough!" She said, waving her arm around emphatically.

Panic settled on Cal's face, "What does that mean?"

Even drunk, Gillian could read the panic on Cal's face and it made her laugh. His fear of losing her was funny at this particular moment, and so was the way his eyes narrowed at her as she laughed. She rolled them and tried to look serious, "It means, _Cal_," She emphasized his name, "That you can't _treat people the way you treat people_."

Cal looked at her and his panic softened—his look turned into one of confusion. Cal watched as Gillian's face registered confusion, and she shook her head lightly and he watched as she made the decision to try again.

"Well, no, actually," She said, consternation on her face, "I don't really give a damn how you treat other people," She laughed, "What I mean is that you can't treat _me_ the way you treat other people." Her brow furrowed, and she added in as an afterthought, "I'm not other people!"

Cal laughed and shook his head, "No you're not, love. No you're not."

Gillian's chin tilted down, "This is _serious_, Cal." She said, her bottom lip coming out in a pout.

Cal had to bite his lip to control his smile—she looked so cute and he knew she wasn't trying to look cute, in fact she was trying to look stern.

He looked at her and his eyes shone, "I know, love."

Gillian nodded her head, "Ok, good. Your behavior has been unacceptable," her tongue tripped over the word, and she looked at Cal's face to make sure he understood.

Cal gave a little nod, "Absolutely."

"I'm your _friend_," She continued.

Cal nodded, "My best friend," He added.

Gillian pursed her lips at this, and he watched as she considered his words, "Then you need to treat me like it."

Cal nodded his head in affirmation, "I will, Gillian."

Cal watched her face soften as he used her first name. Cal knew she needed to hear more, so he leaned back in the chair and spoke—

"I really am sorry. I've been a—well, you know what I've been." He shrugged his shoulders, "It's just—" He trailed off and Gillian looked at him quizzically, "Emily got in to Berkeley." Gillian nodded, she knew this already, "And…" Cal started, "I don't want her to go." He finished simply. "So I've been frustrated and worried and conflicted and I've been taking it out on you… and I'm sorry."

Gillian looked at him through hazy eyes. His love for Emily was one of the most beautiful things about him in her opinion. "Okay." She said, forgiveness washing over her, "But, I swear—if you don't treat me better…" she trailed off as she pointed a finger at him.

Cal smiled, "I will."

Gillian's face softened and she felt a sense of calm come through her, "Good." She said as she released the tension in her body and melted into the couch, "Being mad at you _sucks_."

Cal nodded, "Having you mad at me sucks."

She giggled then, suddenly enthralled with the word 'sucks,' and Cal watched bemusedly as she poured more wine into her glass and sort of whispered the word out. Suddenly, she looked up, "You want some?" She said, as though it were a secret.

Cal smiled and considered his options—he weighed them and then smiled, "Sure, love, I'll have a glass."

Gillian's face filled with what Cal could only describe as consternation. She sat up on the couch, her back straight, and looked at him.

He chuckled, "It's okay, love. I'll get the glass."

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TBC

_p.s. you can thank gidget89 for actually getting to read this story-i was going to abandon it. conversely, if you hate it, you can blame her, too._

_don't be a creeper, click that ish._


	2. Chapter 2

Dirty Shirley - Chapter 2

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Relief washed over her and she picked her feet up and put them back on the couch, stretched out in front of her.

Cal walked into her kitchen and grabbed a glass from her cupboard—he walked back into the living room and poured himself a glass. Smiling, he picked Gillian's feet up and set them back down on his lap—her eyes were wide as she smiled at him.

She watched as Cal raised the glass to his lips and took a sip—his face scrunched up in disgust when he felt it on his tongue.

Gillian giggled, and Cal threw her a look, "Wine's a bit too classy for me, love." He said, leaning his head back against the couch. Gillian giggled, and Cal stared at her out of the corner of his eye, reveling in the carefree sound, "So," he began, "How did you get here?" He asked, his hand vaguely waving in her direction.

Gillian looked at him, her brow furrowed, "What do you mean, 'here'?" She asked.

Cal laughed, watching her as she tried to work out his meaning. "Pissed on your couch on an idle Thursday," He said, by way of explanation.

She looked at him then, "Oh." She inhaled, "I thought maybe you were getting all deep on me or something," She waved her hand, "You." She said, simply. And her eyes were sad.

Cal, face reader extraordinaire, understood what she didn't say: _It's always you_.

The thought made him sad—Gillian was the most put together woman that he knew. And the thought that he had the capacity to break her down was excruciating for him. He'd always longed to protect her—so he'd pushed her away, clawed at her even, hoping she'd keep her distance. But, she never did. She always forgave him and she did so quickly and without a grudge.

Gillian felt the air drawn out of the room as she saw the sadness etch itself into Cal's face.

He fixed her with a look—he hadn't come here to make her sad, so he changed the subject: "So, what were you drinking that made your tongue red?" He asked, as he took a swallow of his wine.

He nearly spit it out when he saw Gillian stick her tongue out and then cross her eyes downward to observe the color on her tongue.

She slipped her tongue back inside her mouth and a grin spread over her face—"Dirty Shirleys," She said, smiling.

Cal furrowed his brow, "Dirty Shirleys?"

"Yep!" She said, excitedly—"It's—" She trailed off, thinking hard, "Vodka…"

"Of course," Cal sad, a bemused smile playing on his face.

"7-Up, and grenadine—Like a Shirley Temple, but _dirty_." She said, emphasizing the final word, and her voice dropped low and her lids fell heavy.

Cal swallowed hard, watching Gillian's lips form the word 'dirty'—sultry Gillian was very sultry, even while drunk, and he found her hard to resist.

"I see." Cal said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Gillian smiled, "Want one?" She asked.

Cal clutched his wine glass—"No, I'm good." He said, holding it up. He wasn't really a wine sort of guy. He'd drink it on occasion, but in truth he was a beer guy. But, despite his love for the stuff, he never drank it in front of Gillian. Upon finding out her father was an alcoholic and beer was his poison of choice, any time he thought he might even see her for a second for some odd reason, he didn't drink beer.

Lately, that meant he just really didn't drink it, because he always wanted to leave room for the possibility of Gillian.

Cal could all but see the proverbial light bulb flicker over Gillian's head as her eyes widened—"Wanna play a game?" She rushed out, excitement apparent in her voice.

Cal laughed at her expression—"What, like Monopoly?"

Gillian drew her lips together and pushed out air, "Please, Cal, I would _so_ monopolize your ass!"

The imagery of the unintended suggestiveness of Gillian's words was by no means lost on Cal. He waggled his eyebrows at her, "I can get behind that…" He said, leering slightly.

A look of consternation came over Gillian's face, "No." She said, and her lips formed a slight pout, "Not that kind of game," Her words ran together with a slur, "Like a…fun game!" She said, finally.

"I'll play any game you'd like, Foster." Cal said, his tone sexier than it needed to be. It was the truth, though, and Gillian flashed him a devilish grin as her eyes lit up.

"Okay!" She said, and she clapped lightly, overcome by the excitement, "I want to play ten fingers!"

Cal's eyes went wide and he nearly choked on his swallow of wine.

Gillian giggled wildly at his expression—and Cal grinned at her, "I'd love to play that one with you, love." He said, innuendo slipping in to his words.

She laughed, "No, _Cal,_" She emphasized his name, "It's _not_ that kind of game!" She said, a silly grin still plastered on her face.

Cal contemplated this, and he pulled a disappointed look, "Pity, that." He said, finishing the last of his wine—grabbing the bottle, he refilled his glass, "So, what sort is it then?"

Gillian's face clearly held excitement as she threw her legs under her, sitting cross-legged on the couch as she leaned forward to explain the game to Cal—"Well, sometimes it's called I've never—or Never have I ever, whatever—"

She trailed off and Cal thought a moment, he thought he remembered Emily and her friends giggling in her room playing something similar to this. He sighed, realizing that he had just committed to playing a silly teenage game with Gillian Foster. The thought also, however, made him extremely excited.

Cal nodded, "Okay. Well, how's it work, then?"

"Well, you put out ten fingers—and then the object of the game is to get the other person to put all their fingers down. Whoever runs out of fingers first, loses!" She said, and then her brow furrowed and a pout came to her lips—"Wait. Does that make sense?" She asked, her eyes wide with worry.

"Yes, love, it actually does. But, how do you get the fingers down?" He said, and a smirk fell on his face—there was an innuendo there somewhere, but he couldn't quite find it. Because he didn't drink wine very often, it was affecting him in a funny way—he was feeling warmer. Of course, he was sitting in Gillian Foster's living room with a very drunk Gillian—so, there was that to account for the warmth as well.

Gillian's eyes lit up, "Well—you say something that you've never done, and if the other person _has _done it then he—or she—puts a finger down." She said.

Cal wrinkled his brow, observing her—her relaxed posture was something he didn't see enough in her as of late, and he enjoyed seeing her like this. He was almost sad that it had to come from alcohol, but he was still happy to see it.

Gillian mistook his look for confusion, alcohol riddled as her brain was, and so she explained with a heavy sigh that seemed to say _I cannot believe you're not getting this_, "So, for instance. Let's just say that—I don't know, I've never been on a rollercoaster—"

Cal cut her off, "You've never been on a rollercoaster?"

"Shut up." She said, and then giggle at the look he gave her—with Gillian Foster drunk, you never knew what you were going to get, "I didn't _say _that. I said for instance—it was hypothetical," She gave him a pointed look and Cal took in her dilated pupils and the slight gloss of her eyes, "So, _anyway_, say it's my turn and I say 'I've never been on a rollercoaster,'" She broke off to look at him harshly, "and you _have_ been on a rollercoaster, then you put a finger down."

Cal couldn't control the smile that came to his lips, and he also couldn't resist messing with her, just a little—"Any finger?"

Her eyes narrowed and she gave him what he was sure she thought was a very _mean_ look but which was, in fact, actually quite adorable, "Yes, _Cal_, _any finger_," She said as a gleam came into her eye. Cal watched, then, as she raised her delicate hand so that her palm was facing her face.

Then, with a look, she acted as though she was being demonstrative, and before he knew it, Gillian had put down all but one finger on her right hand—and he was staring at her middle finger. Gillian Foster was flipping him off—"Any finger at all," she said, her words coming out long and with more syllables than they actually had. She smiled lazily.

Cal smiled at her—and looked at her elegant finger making a rather vulgar gesture—he took it in his hand, "That's interesting, that is." He said as he squeezed lightly on her finger. Gillian's eyes darkened a bit before Cal let go—she slid her hand into her lap and smiled at him. "And that's yet another idea of yours I can get behind, love." He said, his voice falling heavily over the words—letting both innuendos register on her pretty features.

Cal stifled a chortle when they finally did register. Gillian's eyes widened as she realized both double entendres and she looked truly shocked. Because she was drunk, her response time lagged a bit, so the expression lasted longer than it normally would have, before it gave way to the tiniest hint of desire.

Cal ached slightly at the sight—a turned on, drunk Gillian Foster was something he'd only seen in his dreams, and it was painful in a funny sort of way having her before him in person.

Gillian gasped and put on feigned shock, "Well, I've never…" She said, laughing.

"Yes, love, that is the name of the game." He said, winking at her.

She laughed then—"And for that, Cal Lightman, you get to go first."

He looked shocked—"But, it's your game!" He said.

"Doesn't matter. I make the rules." She said, playfulness in her eyes.

"Too right." He said, shaking his head.

Gillian looked at him, clearly waiting for him to begin the game.

Cal sighed with a flourish—"Fine. I've never…." He trailed off, searching his mind for something—finding surprisingly little appropriate things, he finished, "Been bungy jumping."

Gillian looked at him and her mouth fell open. "Cal, Cal, Cal, _Cal_," She said, reciting his name, "Let me explain something to you. That is _not_ how you want to play this game. Bungy jumping is pretty outrageous," She said, "and most people haven't done it, so it's not a very effective question if you're trying to win."

Cal looked at her, a gleam in his eye, "Oh, I'm always trying to win, Foster."

"_However_," She said, dramatically, the beginning of the word coinciding with the end of his last syllable, "Luckily for _you_, I, in fact, _have_ been bungy jumping." She finished with a grin.

Cal couldn't contain his shock—he had said it flippantly, testing the waters for a silly first question. He didn't think she'd actually done something so—reckless. So, wild.

Reading his look, Gillian just laughed, "I've said it before, and I'll say it again," she tilted her head to the side, "You don't know me as well as you think!"

Cal looked at her—he knew things about her, yes. Important, heavy things. He was excited to learn all the little minute details that made up who she was. And yes, he wanted to learn them all, "When? Where?" He said.

She grinned at him. "In college. While I was studying abroad. A few of us went to Switzerland one weekend—and the guys decided to go bungy jumping while the girls went shopping." She shrugged, "I was curious."

Cal liked the idea of a _curious_ Gillian Foster, "And?" He prompted.

"And it was terrifying." She said, matter-of-factly, "But. I'm still glad I did it—if only because I get to see reactions like that one," She pointed to his face, which still had remnants of shock upon it. She held up her fingers, "So. You get a finger," She said, shaking her head.

"You already gave me one, love." Cal said, chuckling lightly.

Gillian smiled, then, as she put her thumb down. "Now, it's my turn." She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought, and Cal took a gulp of his wine—he was very aware that Gillian was not purposefully trying to be sexy. He was also aware, however, that she absolutely was, anyway.

She played with a tendril of hair while she considered—she wanted to flirt—and she figured she could be mundane and wait until the right time arose—maybe it would, and maybe it wouldn't—or, she could just jump in. Had she not had so much alcohol, she would have undoubtedly picked the former—but her head was swirling with vodka and grenadine, and so she felt herself drawn toward the latter:

"I've never…" She paused and Cal didn't miss the sparkle in her eye, "streaked." She finished the sentence, and one of her eyebrows went up as did her pitch, slightly—indicating the silent question, _have you_?

* * *

TBC

A/N: You don't want an author's note from me now. Okay. :D But here it is anyway.

Oh, and Gillian and Cal were drinking Cabernet Sauvignon. In case you were wondering.

Now. Holla atcha girl.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I wasn't going to even have one of these stupid things at the beginning of this chapter, but, oh well. This chapter is a very STRONG T for sexual...ness. I didn't intend that to happen, but I started writing and it happened and now IDGAF. Wanted this up before we got to see little miss Drunk!Gillian on the show, but that didn't happen either. Anyway, here's chapter 3. _

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Cal looked at Gillian with an air of appreciation that was, in fact, multi-layered. He always held appreciation for Gillian Foster—always had, always would. But he thoroughly enjoyed seeing a rarely visible side of her, and he was appreciative of the chance tonight had afforded him. There was nothing quite like seeing Gillian Foster let loose.

Gillian, for her part, looked at him with unbridled excitement. Cal smiled at her, laughing with his eyes at the way she sat forward slightly, ready to hear his answer.

"Why, yes, love, as a matter of fact, I have." He answered her silent question and watched as her eyes lit up.

"Really?" She asked, that excitement tingeing her voice, "When?"

Cal sat back in his chair and regarded her—he crossed his legs and smiled, "Last week." He deadpanned and then laughed at the expression that crossed her face in the interim. "Joking." He said and then raised an eyebrow at her, "Is that how this game works, then?" He questioned. At her confused look, he elaborated, "You don't simply have to say, 'I have,' and put a finger down—you have to explain your answers, do you?"

"Yes." Gillian lied.

He, of course, saw right through it. She was biting her lip and looking nervous and displaying at least five or six tells right off the bat. Gillian wasn't the best liar when she was sober—but add alcohol into the mix and any chance she had at concealing her emotions vanished completely. She was a terrible liar drunk. Smiling, Cal nodded. He'd accept her blatant lie, but it was a fake rule he didn't intend on letting her forget.

"It's rather boring, really—I was back in school and I was on the football team. I'd dislocated my shoulder one drunken night and so I couldn't play." He grinned, showing her all of his teeth; "Anyway, it was the championship game, right. And I was rather upset that I couldn't play—I was kept on the roster though, so we get down to overtime and we're tied, and we end up going to penalty kicks," Cal looked at Gillian to make sure she was understanding his story. "So, even though I'm injured, I get to take a shot—no risk of further injury, really, just kicking the ball. I'm up last and the guy before me from the other side shoots and misses—so, basically, it's all up to me. If I make it, we win; if I miss, we lose." Cal had leaned forward on his seat and he was amused to see that Gillian had done the same, her eyes wide and adorable as she listened intently to his story—she was, quite literally, on the edge of her seat. "So, I go up and I kick the ball," He demonstrates with his hands the trajectory of the ball, "Right into the top left corner. A beautiful shot. So," he shrugged, "My mates and I took our clothes off that night celebrating—ran around the street, there are pictures of it somewhere," He finished with a laugh.

Gillian laughed with him then, too, as the thought of a naked young Cal running around the streets came to her mind.

Then, she was overcome with images specific to _naked Cal_, and she felt goosebumps creep onto her arms at the thought of Cal naked.

Cal saw the shift in her emotions and he couldn't help but smile as she bit her lip, "My turn," Cal said through his smile. He exhaled and tapped his foot slightly, and then he grinned, "Never taken a bubble bath."

Gillian's face drew into an automatic pout when she responded, "Hey! No fair!" Her voice registering a slight whine that Cal would've found annoying on anyone else but that on her he found quite endearing.

"Darling," He said, humor evident in his voice, "You can't keep criticizing the way I play the game."

Gillian's eyes grew playful, and she mocked him, "Aw, don't like it when your skills are called into question?" She finished, her head lolling slightly forward.

Cal hadn't thought he was intoxicated in the slightest, but his actions said otherwise. At the very least, his inhibitions had been significantly lowered because his voice dropped and his eyes narrowed as he fixed her with what could only be classified as a seductive stare, while he said, "I can think of quite a few ways to clear up any questions or doubts you may have concerning my _skills_, Gillian…" He let his voice trail off then, his meaning clear even if indirect. He would have been shocked at himself if he hadn't been so intent on watching her reaction.

Gillian's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as she leaned slightly back on the couch. She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't—Cal had rendered her completely speechless.

Cal reveled for a moment in her reaction—she was clearly turned on and it was him who had done it. Chuckling, his eyes turned soft as he turned her attention back to the game, "Bubble bath?" He said, "I assume you have had one." His smile was smug as he leaned casually back in his chair.

She rolled her eyes, "Of course I have." Her voice was scratchy and her words were slow and deliberate because she had to concentrate on them, "Seriously, you've never had one?" Cal shook his head, "Not even with…" Gillian's voice trailed off and her eyes registered a specific look, "Company?" She said, the word coming out harsher than she'd intended.

Cal watched her reaction—Gillian had been about to say 'Zoe,' but had thought better of it. Cal could tell by the tone in her voice as well as the look in her eye—he'd only seen Gillian respond to one person that way, and that was his ex-wife.

"No," Cal said, his voice gentle, "Not even with company."

Even not entirely sober, Gillian could tell that Cal had caught her meaning and she looked a little embarrassed. She had never considered her feelings concerning Zoe as being rational—so every time she put them on display she couldn't help but feel a bit awkward.

Cal read her embarrassment and broke the silence, "But, you have, so put a finger down."

Gillian turned her attention to her hands, "Right." She said as she put her pinky finger down.

"Now, as per the rules of this game," Cal said, "would you care to elaborate about your bubble bath experiences?" He said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

He watched as Gillian's eyes flickered and her breath became slightly shallow. Cal's pulse quickened and his breath followed suit as he realized that Gillian had, in fact, just elaborated on her bubble bath experiences. Bathing wasn't the only thing she did in the tub, and Cal had to stifle a groan at the mental images this knowledge conjured.

Seeing Cal's reaction, Gillian grinned. It had been unintentional, but she had bested him this time. His plan to make her uncomfortable had actually backfired and she laughed slightly before she leaned her head back on the couch and made a sound that indicated she was thinking of her next "never."

"Let's see," she said, her eyes on the ceiling. Cal's eyes were on her throat, and his arousal was still milling from thinking about her in the bathtub, so he shut his eyes tightly and tried to think of anything _but_ Gillian Foster in a sexual scenario—he failed miserably when she finally spoke, "I've never been in handcuffs."

At her words, Cal's head snapped to look at her. Gillian was smirking at him, and Cal knew that her tone was not accidental.

Immediately, Cal's mind was flooded of images from several of the fantasies he'd had since a particular case they'd had when she had let it slip that she'd always had a bondage fantasy. Cal swallowed hard, and his voice had a light tremor that to anyone else but Gillian Foster, voice expert extraordinaire, would have been indistinguishable, "Now who's not playing fair?" He asked.

Gillian laughed lightly, but Cal registered it as a particularly sexy sound—"Fair's fair, Cal," she said, as though that explained everything and made perfect sense.

Cal looked at her in confusion and then his gaze darkened, "You never have been—but you want to be." He said—his tone indicated a question had been posed, one that he was answering.

Gillian didn't even try to hide the look of arousal that passed over her face, and Cal found himself stunned by the openness of it all. Silently, he put one of his fingers down and then looked at her again, letting her see a bit of his desire. The rest he kept bubbling right under the surface.

Gillian nearly shivered as she watched Cal's eyes darken—she knew what he was imagining—her, handcuffed—partially or fully clothed and she closed her eyes tightly as she felt the stirrings of a very deep and intricate arousal beginning as she imagined the same.

Cal's voice was extra rough when he spoke next, "My turn, love." He said, and Gillian opened her eyes to look at him—his gaze held a hunger that she sometimes saw within him, and he smirked at her in an almost predatory fashion, "I've…" He began, not entirely certain of his next move, "never given a blowjob."

Cal paid special attention to her features, and he was intrigued to notice that Gillian's first response was not surprise or shock—instead, it was a lovely combination of desire, arousal and amusement.

She licked her lips, and Cal tried to control his imagination, which was busy skipping leisurely down the path his question had manufactured—

Gillian chuckled softly, she didn't use her words to tease him about the absurdity of his statement, her eyes were doing enough of that. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that they were treading none too lightly on dangerous territory. It wasn't the alcohol, though, that made her want to explore that foreign territory—she'd been wanting to do that for some time. The alcohol simply gave her the means to do it.

Gillian dropped her gaze so that she was looking at him through her lashes when she said, "Well, I _certainly_ have."

Cal felt a shiver go through his body at her sultry tone and his eyes held bemusement and arousal. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. His eyes traveled over Gillian's face, as they were prone to do when he was reading someone. He took in her dilated pupils, the slight contraction of her muscles and he felt what seemed like all the blood in his body change directions completely, "And how was it?" He asked—

She chuckled, "For me or for them?"

Cal tilted his head slightly, "For them, love—I can see all over your face how it was for you. How was it for them?" Cal should've felt awkward asking her that question, but he didn't. He felt incredibly turned on, instead.

Cal watched as Gillian's chin jutted out a little bit, "Wouldn't you like to know?" She said, her voice adopting a singsong like quality as she tossed him a rather smug smile.

Cal nearly groaned as his mind ran wild—_yes, I bloody well would_—he barely kept that thought to himself. Instead, he made a show of analyzing her face, "That good, huh?" He concluded.

She smiled devilishly at him then, and Cal was immediately aware of where his blood had gone when it decided to change courses—"Maybe someday you won't have to ask," She said finally, her lids heavy and her voice dripping with innuendo.

Cal couldn't control the groan then, and on the heels of the noise came a gravelly, "Christ, Gillian." As his mind was inundated with one particular image: Gillian Foster on her knees in front of him—answering the hell out of his question.

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_To Be Continued_

_One more chapter left, I believe. You go ahead and you click that button down there. You know which one I mean. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Alright, this is how this is gonna work. Here is one final hardcore T chapter (rated as such for language and sexual-ness). And it will be followed by an M chapter. I will try my hand at it. I make no promises that it'll be good. You've been warned._

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Gillian couldn't control the wave of arousal that passed through her body as she watched Cal's face. His eyes were dark and his arousal was written all over his face and she could tell precisely what he was imagining. Which, in turn, made her imagine it, too, and she let the desire she felt slip into her eyes as she gazed at Cal, her lids slightly closed.

Suddenly, she let out a sexy laugh, and she reached for the wine bottle to refill her glass. Cal's arm snaked out and his hand closed around hers just as it closed around the wine bottle, "No, love," he said, his voice heavy, "allow me." Gillian stilled as she felt her pulse increase—she could hear her heart pounding in her ears as Cal lifted the bottle with her hand still wrapped around it and poured the liquid into her cup.

His eyes never left hers as he set the bottle back on the table and released her hand. Smiling, she brought the rim of the glass to her lips and drank, feeling the wine touch her tongue as she watched Cal look at her with what could only be classified as hunger.

She swallowed hard, and then spoke, "My turn." She said, her eyes casting down and to the right.

"So it is." He said, as he leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips.

She readjusted herself so that her legs were now crossed in front of her on the sofa. "I've never…" she began, and then she leaned forward and rested her elbow on the top of her knee and her head on her hand, "Licked food off of someone's body—" Gillian paused, and then as an afterthought added, "during _sex_."

Cal momentarily wondered what made her add the clarification, but the thought was quickly overrun by the fact that he had just heard Gillian Foster's lovely lips form one of his favorite words: _sex_. He'd heard her say it before, certainly, but never in quite this same context. Never with half a bottle of wine warming her stomach and never with that sultry look in her eye. Cal replayed the word falling from her lips over again in his head, and he knew even if he were sober, it would sound just as good—he felt himself grow harder, and he shifted in his chair.

His eyes widened slightly, and he let his gaze slide up her long legs, and her delicious body before finally resting on her face. "Really?" He said, and she shook her head. "What makes you think I have?" He asked, feigning offense.

She giggled then, and let out a little noise that sounded like a scoff, "Please, Cal. You have…" she trailed off, trying to find the right word, "an obsession with food." She finished.

"Funny to put it like that, darling," He said, and he noticed how slowly his words slid out of his mouth, hazy with alcohol as they were, "But, yes, I suppose I do."

"So you have, then?" She asked, a smile on her face and something else that Cal couldn't quite read.

"Indeed—it's really rather sensual, actually." He said, connecting with a memory, and he watched as that nebulous emotion passed over Gillian's face again. He was certain that if he had been sober he could have placed it immediately, but alcohol slowed his reaction time slightly—"What was that?" he asked, pointing a finger to her face, even from his lazy position in the chair, "There."

Gillian's mouth formed a slight 'o,' and she shook her head.

"No," He said, his tongue moving to the roof of his mouth and making a noise, "I saw it. When I said that licking food off a _lover's_" he watched Gillian's face, "body could be very _sensual_." He emphasized the words to test his educated guess. He mentally patted himself on the back. Even tipsy he could read Gillian correctly.

She scrunched her nose up then, only for a second and Cal laughed outright before his voice became gentle, "Hey, no fair." He said, leaning his head forward.

"What's not?" She asked, confusion evident in her voice and face.

"Can't be jealous, love, if _you've_ never given me the opportunity." Cal replied as he let his eyes lasciviously travel up and down the length of her body, pausing at his favorite parts.

Gillian felt her breath hitch in her throat as she watched Cal look at her. She had always found something incredibly erotic about watching a man watch her—and even more so when that man displayed the intense desire that Cal Lightman was currently in the process of displaying.

She cleared her throat then as she felt a rush of heat between her legs, and as if in response, Cal licked his lips, imagining all the various foods he could lick from Gillian's gorgeous form.

Smiling, then, he made a show of putting his finger down, "Don't know what you're missing, love." He said, waggling his eyebrows in a way that made her think (and think correctly) that he'd like to show her precisely what she was missing. Cal picked up his wine glass by the stem and swirled it around slightly, making a noise in the back of his throat as he considered a question—his eyes danced as he raised his glass to his lips—with his lips barely touching the wine glass he spoke, "I've never," he paused slightly as he tipped the glass drawing the wine closer to his mouth, "masturbated," he said quickly, as the liquid rushed into his mouth—he nearly sputtered at Gillian's reaction, but he swallowed fast and then brought the glass down from his mouth, "to a romance novel," he said, his smile returning full-force.

Gillian felt her entire body get hot then, and she cringed when she felt the blush rise up her body—it crawled up her chest and neck and settled on her cheeks, turning her a very deep shade of crimson.

"Ah," Cal said, setting his wine glass down, "So _that's_ why they make you happy, is it?"

Cal hadn't thought it possible, but Gillian flushed even more, and Cal chuckled in response—"Shut up, Cal!" She said, taking a quick swig of her wine and then setting it down.

"Tell me about it—" He said, his voice gruff.

Gillian's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak but ended up stuttering instead. Shaking her head to try to regain her composure, she tried again, "You've had your fun."

"Mm," He agreed, laughing softly, "So have you, it seems." Cal tilted his head to the side and squinted at her, "Say it."

Gillian felt her breath catch, "Say what?"

"You know precisely what I want you to say." Cal said, tapping his foot.

Gillian rolled her eyes, and Cal could tell that gesture was absolutely contrary to everything she felt—which at that moment, Cal surmised, was a heady mix of lust and arousal—"Fine, Cal." She sighed, "You want me to say it, I'll say it. I touch myself when I read romance novels." She let him think that was the end of her sentence, and Cal smiled in triumph. As he glanced at his wine glass, though, he missed her rather sinister grin, "It's usually when I'm in bed—after I've just finished a luxurious bubble bath and I'll read a scene and I'll suddenly feel myself getting aroused," She said, and Cal's eyes snapped to hers and he felt his throat go completely dry, "So I'll slip my fingers down my body, pausing at my breasts, and then slide them down my stomach until they slip inside my underwear…" She said, her voice low.

Cal's mouth hung slightly open as he visualized the scene she had painted for him—he imagined her hair slightly wet from the bath as she laid on her back in the middle of her bed, one hand clutching a book, the other hand settled between her legs.

When the silence situated itself, Gillian rolled her head back and laughed, "What's the matter, Cal, cat got your tongue?" She asked.

"I bloody wish." His voice sounded scratchy, from being dry—but the entendre did not escape Gillian and she didn't have time to suppress the little moan that came to her throat.

The noise hung in the air between them, before Cal spoke again, his voice raspy and his words still wrapped in innuendo, "Put a finger down, then, Gillian." He said, and she smiled at his meaning.

"Gladly." She said, and tucked a finger away.

Cal closed his eyes and Gillian watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. She watched his nostrils flare as he attempted to control his breathing, and she chanced a glance at his jeans—and his arousal was completely evident. Cal opened his eyes, then, and caught her staring, "Like what you see, darling?" he asked.

Startled, but too tipsy to be embarrassed for having been caught staring at his crotch, she simply nodded, and then let her eyes meet his gaze—which, not at all surprisingly demonstrated his intense desire.

"My turn." She said, finally. Gillian wanted to forget about the game—but she was actually quite competitive and so she thought of another thing she was certain would get Cal—"I've never," She paused dramatically, "woken up to someone giving me head." She finished, and Cal let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

For what felt like the thousandth time that evening, Cal was plummeted into imagery overload—he imagined waking Gillian up in that particular way and he nearly groaned at the thought.

"Really?" He asked—but it was actually more of a growl. Gillian shook her head, and Cal considered her and then crossed his leg so that his ankle rested on his knee, "Alec never—" He trailed off with a wave of his hand.

Gillian bit her lip and shook her head, "No." She said, a little too quickly and a look passed over her face that made it clear to Cal that Alec had not only never woken her up in that fashion—but he'd scarcely done it at all, if ever.

Cal ran his palm over his face, "Bloody wanker." He sighed, "That ex of yours." Cal looked at her then, her eyes shining, her body loose as she tilted her head to the side and smiled at him. Cal considered biting his tongue—were it not for the alcohol, perhaps he would have, but he didn't—"If you ever allow me the absolute pleasure, Gillian, I swear to God I'll never want to stop licking you."

Gillian closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, as she stifled what would have been a rather loud moan. "Put a finger down, Cal," she said.

"You're bloody right, I will." Cal responded, and before Gillian could react, he was on the couch next to her, his hand touching her face. She closed her eyes and nestled into his palm—it felt warm against her skin even though her skin was warm from the alcohol.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes, "Who's winning?" She asked.

"Who cares?" He asked, as he leaned in closer to her face.

She looked at him and her eyes squinted slightly, "I might." She said, her tone playful.

"You win, Gillian," He said, rubbing his thumb across her face, "You fucking win," and with that, he dipped his head to taste her for the first time.

She opened her mouth to him and pulled him closer to her—Cal's tongue smoothed over Gillian's as her hand clutched his hair. When she moaned against his mouth, Cal returned the sound with a groan and their touching became more and more desperate—exploring each other's bodies with their hands as they explored each other's mouths. Gillian ran her tongue over Cal's teeth, and Cal lightly bit her lip when she was done, and then returned to kissing her.

Gillian smiled against his lips before she ran her tongue along his bottom lip and then deepened their kiss. She reached for Cal's shirt, intent on dragging it over his head—Cal stopped her hands with his own, and he paused in kissing her to speak against her lips, "Gillian, no—" He said, and he didn't have time to explain before Gillian's eyes registered hurt, and she began to pull away from him. Responding quickly, Cal held her hands tightly, tugging her toward him—then he took one hand and placed it on the back of her head, "No, I don't mean that. Jesus Christ, I don't mean that." She looked at him, her eyes searching, deciding whether or not to believe them, "I want that—I want this—us—_this_," He said, hoping he was being clear, "But not like this, Gillian."

She looked at him, and her voice was quiet when she asked, "What do you mean?"

"For as many times as I've thought of this, Gillian, I need to be sure—_damn_ sure that it's what you want."

"You mean it's not what you want," she said, her stubbornness exemplified by the alcohol.

"No." He said sternly, "I mean I need to be sure it's what you want. _ I've_ wanted it for a long time." Sighing, he curled his fingers in her hair, "I've wanted _you_ for a long time. Drunk, sober, even in some other woman's bed, I've wanted you." He said, and Gillian winced at his words—the image of Cal in another woman's bed was perhaps chief among her least favorite images—"But you're drunk, Gillian. I need to know you want this sober, too. I need to know you'll still want this tomorrow."

"I'll want this tomorrow," She said, her head nodding slightly—her brain was swimming, but she was certain she'd want Cal tomorrow, "I've wanted this for a long time, too."

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that."

"Mmm," She said, and her eyes looked up and to the left, "About as long as you've wanted to _fuck _me?" She said, her voice adopting an innocent tone that was in absolute contradiction to her query.

Cal groaned then, and pulled her head toward him, his breath hot on her ear, "And then some." He ran his tongue along the curve of her ear and she gasped.

She smiled and reached her hand out to feel him through his pants, at the contact, he hissed, his tongue pausing its ministrations momentarily, "Not going to make this easy for me, are you love?"

She squeezed, "Not a chance—I prefer it hard." She said, giggling.

"That makes two of us, darling." He said, as he pulled her into a kiss.

They kissed for a moment before Gillian pulled away, "Cal," She said, and his eyes fell to her swollen mouth, "I'll want this tomorrow."

He grinned, "Then we'll start tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes, "You pick tonight to be chivalrous."

Cal shrugged, "It's too important." he said simply—and he watched as her eyes widened and then her gaze softened.

"You'll stay the night?" She asked tentatively.

He nodded, "Of course I will."

Gillian smiled and leaned into Cal for another kiss, "Good," She said as her tongue traced his lips—she sucked on his bottom lip lightly and he moaned and pressed his tongue inside her mouth. They kissed for a long while, each exploring what the other responded most to, before Cal broke the kiss—"And if you _do _want this tomorrow," He began—

Gillian interrupted, "I will."

Cal grinned at her, and traced his index finger over her collar bone, making Gillian shudder at the contact, "Then we'll have to begin some _serious _work on your nevers, darling."

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_The End-_

_Almost._

_"Go ahead, make my day." (That's not Clint Eastwood, that's Lindsay from The Practice. And you know exactly what it means.)_


	5. sexytiems

_A/N: Well, here is my first attempt at a TRUE "M" Chapter. Also, you're all going to HELL for corrupting me. Just sayin'. Also, good thing I'm a fic ninja! I got myself successfully out of the chinese finger trap into which I'd written myself last chapter with Cal's stupid chivalry.  
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_WARNING: This chapter is HELLA "M"- so, if that's not your thing, just pretend the story ended after last chapter._

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Cal had crawled into Gillian's bed clad only in his boxer briefs, and she had chosen to wear a set of matching silk pajamas that looked incredibly adorable and somehow sexy on her. They'd laughed and giggled until they'd fallen asleep, Cal's arm wrapped around Gillian's waist, her back snuggled up against her chest. She'd shivered at the contact and swiveled her hips a little bit, and he'd chuckled and then stilled her with his hand on her abdomen.

"Tomorrow, love." He'd breathed into her hair.

Gillian had laughed and then moaned a little before she sighed contentedly and drifted off to sleep, Cal not far behind her in finding his own slumber.

Gillian's eyes fluttered open and she glanced at the clock that read 6:30am. Grinning, ran her hand along Cal's forearm, his hand still holding her tightly. She pressed herself into him, and practically purred his name, "Cal?" She said, and she laughed when she heard him groan. "Cal?" She repeated, her hips pushing backward.

Cal inhaled sharply, feeling his erection against Gillian—he pulled her tighter to him, "Mm, yes love?" He said, propping his elbow on his pillow and resting his head on his hand so that he could see her face properly. The light was flooding in the window through small cracks in the blinds—there were shadows on her face, but he could see her clearly.

She turned her head slightly, allowing him better access to her features—she wanted him to be able to read her for this. She looked at the clock and looked back at him—he followed suit and looked at her questioningly, one eyebrow rising.

She smiled at him, "It's tomorrow, Cal." She said, "I'm completely sober," He watched her face and knew she was no longer under the influence of alcohol, "And," She continued, reaching her hand behind her even though it was at an awkward angle, "I still want," She said, her eyes heavy with desire, "This." She finished, as she wrapped her hand around his cock.

Cal grinned at her and then shut his eyes tightly, groaning at the sensation.

"Am I telling the truth?" She asked, affecting an innocent tone.

Cal's eyes flickered open, and his eyes searched her face, "Yes, darling, you absolutely are." He said.

"Mm, good." She said, giving him one squeeze before returning her hand in front of her. "I just thought you'd like to know."

Cal pressed himself into her and she nearly shuddered at the sensation, "Yes," he said, "I would." His fingertips caressed her stomach and he dropped his head down onto the pillow next to her. "And, for the record, love, I still want it, too." He said, his hands moving up to caress the underside of her breast through her pajamas.

"I'm glad," Gillian said, and Cal could hear her smile, even though he could no longer see her face. "Now," She said, as she situated herself against him, "We have at least another two hours to sleep—so," She said, nestling her head into the pillow, "I'm going back to sleep."

Cal smiled in the semi-dark as he closed his eyes next to Gillian—as her breathing steadied, indicating she'd fallen back into her slumber, Cal buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, and drifted off to sleep himself.

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Cal awoke two hours later with a smile and an erection. His hand was still draped across Gillian's abdomen, and he tightened his grip slightly, and pulled her back into him, nuzzling his face in the back of her hair. She made what he could only describe as a lovely, sexy sound and snuggled back into him. He placed a kiss to the back of her neck and then let his hand travel further down her abdomen.

Gillian Foster, on mornings after she had been drinking, was a particularly heavy sleeper.

Her pajama top had ridden up, and Cal could feel the warmth of her flesh under his fingertips as they traveled downward. When he reached the waistband of her pajama pants, he felt a sense of exhilaration course through his veins. He had been waiting years for this—and there would be no going back. Delicately, he slipped his fingers inside the waistband, and he gasped when he felt the heat of her.

With a light groan of approval, he touched her—his fingers ghosting over her clit—once, twice, three times, and Cal felt Gillian begin to respond in her sleep, leaning her weight against him and pushing herself into his hand. He grinned and continued his ministrations until he felt Gillian begin to get slick. Then, with a smile, he changed his position so that he was no longer behind her.

His movement caused Gillian, who had rested herself upon him, to roll onto her back. Cal smiled, positioned at her side, on his knees, his erection painfully obvious through his boxer briefs.

If Cal had any doubts about Gillian's state of slumber, they were alleviated when she, still on her back, turned her head to the side, her mouth open, and murmured slightly. Cal leaned in to her face and saw that her muscles were at rest—she was definitely still sleeping.

Smiling, Cal hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her pajama pants, and pulled them down her legs, taking her underwear with them. He eased them out from her weight, pulled them off her legs and dropped them next to the bed.

Cal turned attention to the body that lay before him—even just half naked he found her absolutely breathtaking. He felt what little blood wasn't there already travel to his groin as his eyes ran up the expanse of her legs, long and lean, and landed on that beautiful juncture between her thighs. The shadows from the early morning light pouring into the window framed her perfectly and he couldn't help but breathe out, "Lovely," as he inched closer to her on the bed.

As if anticipating his next move, Gillian shifted again in her sleep, bringing her left leg up slightly and burrowing the left side of her face further into the pillow.

Cal licked his lips in anticipation as he situated himself in the area she had made. He ran his hand up Gillian's leg, reveling in the warmth and softness of her skin, and he didn't realize that he was holding his breath until he brought his face nearer to her. Anticipation of the realization of fifteen years worth of fantasies flooded his system and he released the hot breath he had been holding onto her most sensitive part.

Cal grasped the underside of her left knee with his right hand and pulled it up slightly, so he could have better access to her. With a slow, almost tentative dip of his head that seemed to almost pay homage to the fact that he was going to taste her for the first time, Cal leant further into Gillian.

Inhaling sharply, he ran his tongue up her length. He felt her shift in her sleep and make a little noise, smiling against her; he did it again, enjoying the sensation of her heat and moisture against his tongue. The third time, he could finally taste her on his tongue and he groaned involuntarily, and moved in for a fourth. At the end of the fourth lick, he paused to pay attention, specifically, to her clit.

He swirled his tongue around it, enjoying the way the bud hardened against his mouth. He heard Gillian gasp lightly in her sleep, and he flicked his tongue over it again. Cal then sucked it gently into his mouth, applying light pressure with his tongue and he felt Gillian gasp, and he saw her head shoot up from the pillow—she was finally awake.

Gillian gasped again as Cal's tongue continued its work, and her head lolled backwards toward the pillow.

Cal smiled against her, and licked up her length another time, enjoying the added moisture her conscious brain had allowed—"Morning, darling." He said, his mouth still pressed against her.

Gillian's voice was low and throaty from sleep and arousal when she moaned and said—"Yes, it is. Good morning, Cal." The tenor of her voice caused Cal's cock to twitch.

Gillian propped herself up on her elbows so she could look down at Cal, who was lapping at her—smiling, he paused, "What?"

She laughed and shook her head, "Nothing." She said, "Just watching."

"Oh," Cal said, his voice gravelly, "Then, by all means," He flicked his tongue over her clit and she gasped, "Pay attention." He said, his eyes dark with arousal as his right hand caressed the inside of her thigh and his mouth closed around her.

Gillian closed her eyes and groaned, her head falling back, still propped up with her elbows. Cal continued his work, but kept his eyes on her face—her reactions, the way her face contorted in pleasure fueling his own desire.

He thoroughly enjoyed giving oral sex—but giving it to Gillian was a whole new sort of pleasure that he'd yet to experience. He loved getting to know what her body liked and what it liked more. She was incredibly responsive and vocal and downright _enthusiastic _and as his tongue worked on her, he couldn't imagine a damn thing sexier than that particular moment.

He was proven wrong a moment later, when he positioned his finger at her entrance and her eyes flew open to meet his as his fingertip pressed inside. Her mouth hung open slightly, and Cal's eyes squeezed shut tightly as he felt his groin tighten in an almost painful fashion. She moaned as he slid his full finger into her, keeping his mouth on her clit, his tongue dancing. He nearly shuddered at the warmth and tightness that encased his finger—as he withdrew his finger and slipped it back in, she made a noise in the back of his throat and Cal breathed out against her, "_Bloody hell, Gillian_."

Gillian smiled and her hand found it's way to his head. She tangled her fingers in her hair and held him to her—"_God_, Cal," She said, "Don't stop!"

Hearing his name come from her lips husky with arousal as his mouth worked on her drove him wild, and he withdrew his finger and slipped another inside of her, so he was working with two—he pumped them in and out of her, his tongue continuing its attention to her clit.

Cal alternated between long and slow strokes and hard and fast strokes, seeing which ones Gillian liked better. He was unsurprised to find that she responded well to each of them-curling her fingers in his hair, bucking her hips wildly.

Cal could tell she was getting close, and he relished the moisture that he felt on his fingers as they slid in and out of her. She made the most delicious noises from the back of her throat, and when he curled his fingers upward inside of her feeling the spongy tissue he knew to be her g-spot, she looked at him, her eyes heavy and wild with desire.

"_You're so fucking hot_," he breathed against her, unable to help himself, but allowing his tongue to get immediately back to work.

Gillian smiled to herself, enjoying the fact that Cal felt the need to pause in order to communicate verbally with her—the raw, husky sound of his voice turned her on, and she watched as he worked his tongue against her clit with his fingers buried deep inside of her.

She could tell he was enjoying himself, and the thought caused the beginning of her orgasm to assault her.

"_Fuck,_" She breathed out, and Cal made a noise of appreciation against her as he worked his fingers and tongue in unison expertly.

Finally, Gillian felt the weight of her orgasm surge forth and she cried out. Cal watched as her head dropped to the pillow and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. She whispered, "Cal," As he continued sucking lightly on her clit, enjoying the feel of her muscles contracting around his fingers. Cal rode the orgasm out with her, groaning against her.

Cal watched as shudders racked her body—little aftershocks one right after the other, until she finally stilled on the bed. Cal continued to lazily lick her clit, keeping his fingers inside, enjoying the warmth, as he elicited little involuntarily shudders.

He was forced to amend himself yet again—_that _was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

Eventually, Gillian lifted her head off the pillow and looked at him—his mouth _still_ on her. She smiled at him, a huge smile that made Cal's heart start a little. Smiling back at her, he withdrew his finger and watched as her eyes fluttered closed and then open again at the loss. He then withdrew his mouth from her, and held her gaze as he brought his fingers to his lips and slipped them in his mouth. He moaned at the taste of her, and Gillian watched as his eyes darkened.

Gillian opened her mouth into a little 'o' as she watched Cal clean her taste off his fingers. She felt another rush of desire flood through her as she watched Cal withdraw his fingers from his mouth and with a gaze of appreciation and a little moan state, "Lovely."

She smiled at him as he crawled up her body, resting his weight on his arm placed beside her—leaning his head down, he pressed his lips against hers and she responded by thrusting her tongue hungrily into his mouth. Cal groaned against her mouth as their tongues swirled together and as Gillian tasted herself on his tongue.

Their kiss deepened, and his hand slid its way up to her breast where he teased the left nipple, finding it already hard. She sighed against him and slid her hand down his chest, finding his cock rock hard.

She smiled and pulled away, "That was the best wake up call I've ever had," She said as her grip tightened around him, "So, thank you for that."

Cal smiled at her and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. He was overcome suddenly with emotion as he recalled their conversation from the night previous and how Alec had never really troubled with that sort of gratification for her—"It was my absolute pleasure, love." He said, looking her straight in the eyes and adopting a tone that would allow her to know—in case she didn't already—just how particularly much _he'd _enjoyed the experience.

"Mmm," She said, understanding and appreciating his meaning. Her eyes flicked down to his groin, where his cock strained against his briefs, "Then this," she said, licking her lips, "Will be _mine_."

* * *

_Now, you're asking yourself- is she really that evil? Well, haven't QUITE decided yet...  
thanks to gidget89 for the first read to make sure I wasn't totally lame at writing sex._


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